


your body twisted with mine

by the_strangest_person



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Shirbert Smut Circle, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_strangest_person/pseuds/the_strangest_person
Summary: A burst of compeitiveness on a Friday date night leads to a nostalgic game of twister, where things quickly take a different turn.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108
Collections: Shirbert smut, The Shirbert Circle





	your body twisted with mine

**Author's Note:**

> guess who?

There had always been something restrained within him. A sense of control, something quiet as he showed off his determination and logic. He had a calculating nature, an intense stare that one would mistake for harsh unless they knew him - really knew him, for such a nature did not come from years of believing that he was better than those around him, but instead from years of watching those that he loved fade away like smoke. And when he lost his temper, he did not resemble hot steam rising towards the ceiling, or even the burn of ice as it presses against sensitive skin. _No -_ his anger was a _burden_ : carried around on his shoulders, bubbling underneath the surface yet held back just before his string would snap.

Maybe that was why Anne loved to rile him up as much as she did, testing his boundaries and pushing the right buttons until all of that logic dwindled down to pure instinct. Her legs would wrap around his waist, feet knocking against his lower back as she tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, encouraging him to let go, to cry out, to _lose control._ When it was just the two of them tangled beneath bed sheets, he had no need to hide, no need to bear the judgement of others as she played with his body like it was an instrument. It gave way to something unrestrained - something that others would never see.

It was an intimacy she had never known.

An intimacy grown from in Friday date nights, lazy days in bed, affectionate caresses and secrets whispered beneath white pillows. A love soaked in the thrill of knowing that they would never feel such a way for anyone else, those secrets crafting a rich connection that could be worn, tethered, twisted - but never _severed_. All speckled with heat and the thick, sticky tension that built up as he sent her that smug smile, the same smile that always led to her tearing his clothes off.

Friday's were soon labelled as their date nights. After a long week of classes, study groups and crowded outings with their friends - the pair were longing to feel that same sense of intimacy that had been there all along, boiling under the surface. It was a way for them to unwind with the person they wanted to spend time with the most. _A compromise._ Sometimes it began with hot, unrelenting sex against her front door, and other times they were content to share a bottle of tequila in front of some bad television before later stumbling into bed with quiet laughter and greedy hands. And admittedly after a rather gruelling week of lectures and seminars, from which only average grades had emerged - Anne was ready to curl up on her couch and vent about her troubles to her poor unsuspecting boyfriend. She opened the door and kissed him on the cheek, sending him a half-genuine smile before collapsing back onto the couch with her entire body spread out like a starfish. Gilbert had gifted her some mercy at first, stroking her hair whilst she grumbled into the pillow about her sexist professor and how badly she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, and he really did listen, but after all - he was still the same boy that tripped over his own feet in order to get her attention.

And as easily as she could make him lose control, Gilbert Blythe had : weeks, months, years of experience in successfully getting on her last nerve.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly where it started: all she knew is that it was somewhere between him tugging on her ponytail playfully and saying something about how _good_ he was at playing games. He said it with all of the certainty of the twelve-year old that challenged her back in middle school and next thing Anne knew, her eyes were narrowed, Perhaps it was the echo of the plastic trophy he received by unfairly winning the twister competition, or perhaps it was just a way to distract herself from another week of failure. Anne's shoulders squared, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, socks removed - hands reaching for the twister box on the top shelf for one last hoorah.

"Left hand to red", Gilbert instructed.

Anne thought for a moment, "Right foot to...blue."

"How do we know if this is even fair?", he spoke up, "...this is so much easier with three players, we are supposed to use the spinner to pick-"

She waved him off, "We can just take turns calling out the colours and body parts for each other, just make sure it is random and not strategic so that you win again."

"Would I do that?" he teased.

Anne just rolled her eyes and watched as he prepared to follow her instruction.

She was bending over slightly to keep her left hand on one of the red circles in the centre of the board, and Gilbert sidled up behind her to firmly plant down his right foot. He made an effort to press it down in a stomp, his eyes lit up with child-like mischief, _"Oh -_ fancy seeing you here."

"You're real cute", she drawled sarcastically, but she was competitive at heart and looked at him expectantly, "...now give me my next move."

His eyes practically sparkled, "You know, I like you it when you're demanding."

It took all of her strength to focus on something other than the rising blush on her cheeks, and while Gilbert was stabilizing himself on the matt, she was contemplating counting the colourful circles so that she could get her brain back up and running. Her game face was still as present as ever, gaze sharp as she looked over the medium-sized white matt decorated with neat circles lined down in rows of colour.

"Right hand to red", he finally provided.

Anne followed his instructions and placed her second hand beside her original circle, scanning her possibilities before uttering, "Left foot to red."

Gilbert quickly retaliated, "Left foot to yellow."

One moment they were killing time in her dingy dorm room, and the next she was back in a brightly lit middle school gymnasium, across from the same head of curls. He was smaller then, with twig arms liable to snap and a green t-shirt with a ketchup stain down the front. He was obnoxious and desperate for her attention, with a terrible habit of poking his tongue out at their classmates - but he had still somehow stolen her heart. The Gilbert in front of her now, he was taller and more defined, with clothes clean and fitted as if they were made to be worn by him and, a sharper brain than anyone she knew. Of course, that brain didn't stop him from being clueless with girls, flaying about during her monthly menstrual cycle, panic growing in his eyes when she started to cry, standing around awkwardly when someone tried to flirt with him and flashing **HELP ME** eyes at his girlfriend who tried not to laugh. But he was still Gilbert, and her heart was still tucked away carefully in his front pocket.

From the moment he had the audacity to _cheat_ his way into winning the middle school twister competition -- cruelly tugging on her ponytail so that her right foot slipped off the yellow spot ; to pathetically trailing behind her on the walk home until she agreed to grant him forgiveness - there was just something about him. Despite their supposed status as "friends", Anne tried her best to avoid him at every opportunity, darting down a different hallway, rolling her eyes when he beat her at the spelling bee, hotly reminding him that she was more than capable of standing up for herself when he punched Billy Andrews in her honour. Whether he was challenging her to a competition, begging for her attention like an untrained puppy, or constantly wearing the sweatshirt that she once admitted brought out the green in his eyes - he was trying his best to get a rise out of her.

And now being stupidly in love with him, it only made things worse. He tried twice as hard to piss her off and she couldn't even bring herself to hate him for it.

Here he was, sending her that same grin that came before the triumphant cheer he let out in middle school after picking up his trophy only won by _cheating_ ; Anne could only feel herself softening at the memory. It was a part of their story : the memorable first meeting that soon led to many gruelling months of avoidance and pretending that she didn't want to hold his clammy hand. A building block from the foundation upon which their relationship stood, supported by their morals and loyalty to each other over the years. And the fact that their story had been unconventional from the very start only made the memory dearer to her.

Anne was still stuck in her daze, almost having forgotten the familiar instructions that her boyfriend called out to her. It came out in a breathy tone, "That's like-"

 _"...like when we first met",_ he finished for her, eyes filled with the sticky kind of warmth that he saved just for her, and she felt her heart twirl around in his pocket.

"...yeah", she sighed sweetly.

One of his free hands reached towards her and at first it had set course for her cheek, her eyes ready to flutter close, until she noticed it moving up to her hair, hovering there cheekily. There was amusement dancing in his eyes as he mimed tugging on her ponytail once more and her eyes narrowed. "I could always find another way to win..."

"I dare you to even try, you piece of-"

Gilbert leaned closer, "It seemed to work for me last time."

"I'm warning you-"

 _"Oh,_ I'm terrified-"

"This isn't fair! I am playing fair and square-"

Gilbert couldn't stop himself from laughing, "Why are you always so competitive?"

"You could just clear your cheater reputation and stop distracting me from finishing the game like adults", she retorted, watching his lips twitch with interest.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, _"_ Okay, okay, okay _..._ just give me my next instruction. Buzz kill."

Anne huffed, "Right foot to blue."

"Left hand to yellow", he challenged, watching her almost teeter for a moment before steadying herself. She was determined to win, concentration sharpening her gaze as she shifted her weight.

"Uh...", she looked around, "...left hand to red."

He did as instructed without hesitating and it irked her, "Right foot to blue."

Anne knew that Gilbert had an analytical brain. In his course of study, he relied on extracting data and finding resources that would support his research. He believed in doing the ground work. He did not follow his intuition and he couldn't even make carefully considered guesses. If you asked him a question , you would see his brain spark and his eyebrows furrow, every particle inside of him sorting through every memory, every piece of data that he had stored away, until he came to a logical conclusion. An answer. And so when he started something, he was always determined to find that answer and to keep going until the problem was solved. Even in the case of defeating his girlfriend at a childish game of twister, he had an instinct to follow the rules and work through each level - a primal need to win. _Just like her._

But after her previous move, Anne was directly bent over at the waist in front of him and Gilbert's mind was now focused on anything _but_ the game.

It hadn't been her plan to distract him, in fact, she was mainly focusing on the game itself and trying to determine her next instruction for him. But a part of her wondered if that quick-witted brain was hoping to get her in this position from the moments her hands reached for the box. The hem of her skirt had risen with her previous movement, just enough for him to notice the tiny freckle halfway up her inner thigh as she steadied herself. Her thighs dipped inwards slightly and she subconsciously spread her legs wider, the thin blue fabric of her dress brushing against the milky skin. The dress itself was a generous amount of fabric : clinching in at the waist, billowing out slightly with every shift of her hips, thin straps often falling down her shoulders, and he was fascinated with the way it moved against her skin. Gilbert felt like a starved man, or better yet a fumbling teenager trying to explore new terrain for the first time. He could remember the first time his fingers had found their way underneath her skirt, in the backseat of his car when they were buzzed with nerves and champagne. Even after seeing, tasting, _knowing_ every inch of her - it still somehow felt like the first time.

The trail of his fingers was hesitant at first - uncertain. His thumb was barely brushing the back of her knees and Anne was half-convinced it was an accidental touch. But once he nudged past the hem of her skirt and kept going up, up, up...she knew it was no accident. A small gasp left her lips and she would have stayed straight and still if the sensible side of her had a louder voice, but it was time for her body to talk. And _oh,_ did her body have something to say. It didn't take long until she was pressing against his touch, trying to get closer whilst keeping her feet on the correctly coloured circles, as if proving to the sensible side of herself that she was still looking to win. It would have been fair to say that a part of her was still playing. Half of her bottom lip sunk into her mouth, teeth puncturing the sensitive flesh as she tried her best to stay quiet, wanting nothing more than to whimper aloud at the sensation of his warm body just behind hers.

There was a sense of vulnerability in not being able to see his face. She didn't know if his eyebrows were pinched with concentration as he worked to find her sweet spot, or if that smug smile was on his lips as he watched her ankles start to tremble with the pleasure. All she could do was feel his ragged breaths, squeeze her eyes shut at the way his fingers journeyed higher up her leg, only stopping once his thumb was settled directly onto her clothed clit.

_"Gil."_

It was uttered in a small whisper and he wondered if she was hoping to sound threatening. Instead, he could only envision a white flag being waved desperately. In truth, they both knew it was a plea. To stop, or to continue - that was uncertain.

Anne wanted to huff with frustration at his feather-light touch. He was working his fingers through her lace underwear and she could feel burning hot flames licking at her centre. There was a part of her extremely glad that he could not see her face, that he could not see her internal struggle even though she was half-sure he could already sense it ; but there was another part that hated him for staying quiet, for leaving her to guess his intentions. If he walked away and left her wanting more, Anne was not sure her needs would overpower her pride. What if she let him leave without bringing her over the edge? He certainly seemed to be playing with her, judging by his slow caress that was more an exploration than anything else. But she was never one to beg.

_"Anne."_

She gritted her teeth, unsure if it was a question or a warning. In every aspect of their physical relationship, they were equals. Whether she was on top and relentlessly rolling her hips against his, or if he was refusing to let her touch him until he gave her a warm-up orgasm - they always found a way to balance each other out. Gilbert knew exactly how he could make her feel and although eager to take his time - he was never shy when giving her what she wanted - but still, she refused to beg. If she chanted his name while chasing her release, or tugged at his hair when he started going too slow for her liking, then that was her own choice. Not a last resort. Anne would never let him dwindle her down to dust, would never appear weak in front of him - no matter how badly her legs were starting to shake.

"Hmm?" she finally managed to let out.

In a clumsy yet somehow seamless shift, he had rendered her helpless. The fingers that were torturing her hot centre left to curl around her hips, both hands planted firmly so that he could flip them around and hold her down onto the floor. There she was - laid out on the twister board with him shining above her, a steady hold on her hips that were unconsciously thrusting for more pressure. But she could never be completely powerless, not when he raised his eyebrows silently and waited until he saw her eager nod before he resumed his ministrations. Despite their equal statuses of power, Anne would have let him do anything and she was seconds away from asking ( _no, not begging),_ him to do something.

"How about we try playing a different game?"

She barely had the energy to hum in question, not when he was bypassing her chest and stomach, impatiently flipping up the hem of her dress. As the material bunched around her hips - the idea of playing another game, any game, was good enough for her to shut her mouth and let him continue whatever he was doing. After all - it was a game that they knew all-too well.

She wanted to write poetry about the contrast of his curls spilling against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh - dark brown meeting milky white. It was verging on crude as his shoulders hunched over, body folding in front of hers so he could lean closer to the thin band of her underwear, and she just couldn't tear her eyes away from the shifting veins on his hands. They jolted as his touch moved higher, fingers grasping the back of her thighs to hold them open further. And then he had the nerve to snap the elastic of her underwear against her hipbone and Anne wanted to rip his hair out of his head.

 _"Gilbert",_ she snapped.

He chuckled against the apex of her thighs and she glared down at his mess head of hair.

Gilbert was poking fun at her, silently wondering how far he could push her before she became close to begging - or until she dragged him up by his hair and sped things up herself. But here was a voice in his mind reminding him to _slow down_ , to enjoy the process of watching goose bumps prickle across her skin, taking time to watch her hips thrust upwards for the ghost of relief. She reminded him of a sunflower stretching up towards the sun, her body twisting upwards and extending in search of his touch. And he would give it to her... _eventually._ Perhaps after he had spent his time drinking in the sight of her until he was sure he could memorize every detail, or perhaps after she gasped his name one more time.

But as she tugged desperately at his curls, he wondered he really had the heart to refuse her of what she truly wanted, or _needed._

Her head smacked against the twister matt as his fingers tugged down her underwear.

When his mouth finally hit her - there was nothing unsure about it. For someone that had such a sense of control, Gilbert was always hot and unrelenting when he went down on her, his ministrations almost punishing. The smell of her, the taste...it was all so intoxicating. And suddenly he was a greedy teenager once again having his first taste of whiskey from the liquor cabinet, everything about it so addictive and he couldn't help but smile at her muffled moans behind the fist pressed to her mouth.

_Well, that just wouldn't do._

With a sharp tug, he was reaching up to those fists with one hand, pressing them down to rest on her stomach. He would never let her be quiet and whilst a blush often grazed his cheeks at his own sounds, it filled his chest with a sort of pride when she squirmed and whined underneath his tongue. It was sinful : his hold on her wrists were gentle enough, but the restrictive action itself showed off the spark of dominance he hid just beneath the surface. If she were to ask him to stop or push him away, he would obey without thought - but there was something so very hot about his false sense of control over her body. He could never control her, but that didn't mean he wasn't eager to worship every inch of her skin.

He flicked his tongue against her clit, fingers digging into her inner thigh to keep her legs spread before him. Her chest was rising and falling with each pant, breasts heaving under the thin fabric of her dress and he stopped to watch it for a moment before continuing. He licked and sucked, teased and tormented her clit without mercy, slurping up whatever she was giving him. It was messy and almost disorientating from such an angle, but his ears were straining to hear every moan and whimper that she blurted out without meaning to. Her centre was so hot and wet, sensitive too, and she could feel the vibrations of his moans against her. The delicate bud throbbed, twitching as it practically begged for more friction.

 _"More...",_ she half-demanded, and who was he to deny her?

Using his elbows to keep her legs split apart, his free hand left her thigh to replace his tongue. He started out with slow, careful circles around her clit, before moving down to rub at her centre which ached with anticipation. It jolted at the sensation of his breath, longing to clench around his length and he laughed softly, using his teeth to gently nip at her hipbone. Anne wished that she had control over herself, that she could dictate the volume of her moans or stop herself from stretching out further on the floor like a wanton woman. But he was just too fucking _good_ at this. He was a quick study, a natural willing to take initiative in between listening to her guidelines and pleas. Gilbert pressed a finger into her, watching her hips roll upwards at the sensation, back arching like the mouth of a river. It didn't take long for him to add a second, fascinated by the way she would ride his digits just like when he asked her to sit on his face. Her body was restless, free and wild - always looking for more and unashamed about its needs and desires.

"I-I...", she stuttered helplessly, eyes squeezed shut.

Anne tugged at his hand keeping her wrists captive, wishing that she could smooth her hands over his toned back, or better yet, tug at her overly-sensitive nipples to find release. But _Gilbert_...well, Gilbert always knew when she needed more. He curled his fingers inside of her, hitting that fleshy spot that had her keening with a surprised whimper, and just when she thought she was going to have to kick at his back with impatience, he let his tongue find her clit again - flicking it relentlessly as she fell apart.

He felt Anne practically scream against him, panting desperately as her pale legs tightened around his head, feet curling around his shoulders as he allowed her to finally get closer. He dropped his hold on her wrists and watched her shatter in his arms, holding on for dear life as he mumbled how beautiful she was and how he loved watching her let go for him. He would never get tired of seeing her like that, of seeing her eyes glazed over with white hot pleasure, vision disorientated and confused as the haze of her orgasm finally faded away. And there he would be - shining above her as his Anne came back to him.

"I'm not finished with you yet...", he warned quietly as she tried to shift from underneath him.

Gilbert wouldn't give her a reprieve, barely offering her time to catch her breath before he was pulling her dress up further so that the material bunched around her neck. She was exposed to him, every curve and dip offered on a platter for him to touch and taste. _Fuck, she was beautiful._ His tongue trailed up her stomach slowly, dipping into her belly button and making its way to her rib cage. He watched it flutter like her unsteady pulse, ribs jumping underneath his greedy touch on her pale skin. The hands were holding her hips down, refusing anymore friction so that he could take his time enjoying the rest of her that he had gotten to know so well over the previous few years. When he gave a soft lick to the sensitive underside of her bare breast, Anne let out a soft sigh. He felt the flesh in his hands, pushing her breasts together and massaging before he finally got tired of _just looking._

His mouth crashed down onto her nipple - licking, sucking, nipping, teasing _,_ torturing. They were soft and pink with sensitive areolas, reminding him of a wild rose just blooming at the side of a cliff. They had been barely eighteen when he first got his mouth on them, flicking at the sensitive tips with his tongue until she almost came on his couch. And with more hands on experience and knowledge of what made her scream, he hummed and smiled proudly as she squirmed. He made sure to give both equal amounts of attention, wetting them with his mouth before blowing cool air over the entirety of her chest so that she shivered impulsively.

 _"Fuck",_ she whined, sounded so wrecked it almost destroyed him _, "Gil-"_

Anne was cut off by his lips on hers, deep and sensual - tongue sliding its way into her mouth as a reminder of what it had been doing down south. _That fucking tongue._ She almost wanted to cry against his lips, arms sliding around as her hands found home in his dark curls. They had done this countless times, but with each experience, she swore it only became more life-changing. She couldn't imagine waking up one day without wanting to fuck the daylights out of him. And that is exactly what she planned to do.

He let out a confused sound, startled yet not surprised in the slightest as Anne flipped them over with whatever strength she had left. There she was, straddling his hips and taking control just as she always did. Gilbert grinned up at her slyly and she raised her eyebrows, leaning down so that her fiery hair brushed shirt.

"You knew we would end up here, didn't you?" she accused.

He licked his lips like the cat that got the cream, eyes wide with innocence, "I guess I just can't stop myself from challenging you."

While he was fully clothed, there was nothing powerful about him. He was a man that stumbled around trying to please his partner, showing her just how much he loved her and how badly he wanted her all of the time ; and even in a full set of clothes, the naked woman on top of him held more power than he ever could. She had him right where she wanted him and there was something so fucking hot about her being able to mess with him in whichever way she saw fit. Those nimble fingers, the ones that knew just how to drive him crazy, had fallen down to his belt buckle and were pulling down his zipper without a second thought. It seemed she wasn't bothering to remove his sweatshirt, hand reaching into his back pocket where she knew he kept an emergency supply of protection. His member was throbbing by the time she got it free, leaking with fluids that showed her just how much he enjoyed getting her worked up.

She had no patience to tease him, to run her finger up the side of his length or start gently sucking the leaking tip to get a taste of how much he wanted her. There was a burning desire inside of her and her heat was already slick and waiting for him, and so she settled for grinning wickedly at him while rolling on the condom before lowering herself down.

When she sunk down onto his length, he let out a whimper that would have been embarrassing if he was with anyone else - but not with her. Not when she clenched around him deliciously, enveloping him with her wetness and a warmth that nobody else would ever know. She tilted her head back at the sensation and he left a dirty wet kiss on her collarbone, only slightly disappointed that her thin dress had fallen back down over her chest and stomach. Her hardened nipples were visible through the light blue fabric and he trailed his hands from her hips to her breasts to tease them. She gasped, falling back onto him and trying to find a rhythm as he played with her erect buds, wishing he could turn the cotton of her dress see-through with his saliva. But he settled for closing his eyes with pleasure as she rolled against him, hips gyrating on top of him, restless and constantly searching for something more intense.

His head smacked against the ground as she pressed her hands onto his chest, holding him down. Her chest was bouncing, long red locks slipping off her freckled shoulder and he couldn't do anything other than hold on for dear life as she sped up the tempo. Gilbert watched her eyebrows pinch together with pressure, moans high-pitched as she called out his name.

"I need...", she cried out desperately, looking at him in the hopes that he would somehow understand as he always did.

"I've got you...", he crooned sweetly, one hand leaving her chest to venture down to her slick heat. When he looked down, he could see his length sliding in and out of her as she lifted her hips and let them fall back down again, and the sight was so fucking hot that he almost burst right there. A finger pressed down on her clit, gently massaging as he slapped into her, quickening his pace as she cried out, not knowing if she needed him to keep going or to stop so that she could catch her breath. Gilbert kept going, eager to help her find her own release before spilling himself, despite his member throbbing within her.

With one more particularly punishing thrust, she was coming for him, whining through her release as he spilled into the condom and held onto her tightly. After a while her hips stopped moving completely, and they panted against each other, leaving kisses wherever they could. The twister board lay forgotten beneath them, an echo of where they started and where they now lay spent - still basking in the glow that only came from such intimacy.

When Gilbert finally spoke, he was panting quietly beneath words but still managed to raise an eyebrow alongside that same stupid smile. "M-Maybe...we...should always make Friday nights...our game night."

Anne let out a soft laugh, "As long as you don't cheat."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to @writergirl8 for the wonderful beta work. 
> 
> XOXO  
> the smut ring


End file.
